


The New And The Familiar

by Nerdanelparmandil



Series: Spellbound - Stories of Anairë and Nolofinwë [2]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Gen, Light Angst, Rebirth, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-10-13 05:08:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20576969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nerdanelparmandil/pseuds/Nerdanelparmandil
Summary: "He was here, in her bed. The mere inches between them seemed as insurmountable as the ages that had separated them. It did not feel real, and if she closed her eyes, she feared she would not be able to hear his breathing, that he was a figment of her lonely imagination, and he would disappear as soon as she opened them again."After Fingolfin's rebirth, he and Anairë spend their first night together in their old home and try to find their balance again.





	The New And The Familiar

**Author's Note:**

> There are some minor mentions of depression and trauma, nothing graphic or detailed.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this completely self-indulgent story!

Anairë lay down on their bed and curled up on a side, hugged the pillow and willed her heart to slow its frantic beating. Small noises reached her. The running water, the cabinet’s doors opening and closing, the toiletries being placed on the ceramic of the sink. They spoke of another person who shared her space. Her home had remained empty for so long, she almost forgot how he sounded like when he readied for bed.

As she listened to these noises something inside of her loosened, a knot of uncertainty and worry that had accompanied her for the last weeks. She had been afraid that she would not recognise him anymore, that she would rue his presence in her most intimate of spaces after she had fought for long years to reclaim it entirely for herself, forcefully driving out the void he had left behind.

But knowing that he was there, mere feet away in the other room, listening to his movements that had remained unchanged, familiar in their sequence, filled her with warmth. She buried her face in the pillow as she felt the sting of tears behind her eyelids.

_I won’t cry, not tonight._

The click of the bathroom’s door, soft steps on the carpeted floor, the mattress dipping down, the rustle of the sheets, were another symphony she had wilfully locked away, claimed to have forgotten. But it all came back to her, and she held her breath, waiting for the long sigh he would let out after he had found his favourite position, on his back, an arm thrown lazily over the pillow, the other reaching between them, where his hand would find the curve of her hip, a sign for her to turn and curl around him.

Tonight, however, she did not feel his caress, and his sigh was subdued and hesitant.

Slowly, she rolled around and faced him. He was as she had imagined, but with none of the ease of someone who has just lain down on his own bed. He was tense, the jaw locked and the wide eyes fixed on the ceiling. His hands were clenched in fists, one over his head, and the other between them he kept close to his side. She was sure that if she reached for him now and touched his arm, his muscles would be taut and he would startle.

_This is as difficult for him as it is for me. What can I do?_

He was here, in her bed. The mere inches between them seemed as insurmountable as the ages that had separated them. It did not feel real, and if she closed her eyes, she feared she would not be able to hear his breathing, that he was a figment of her lonely imagination, and he would disappear as soon as she opened them again.

Maybe, it was too soon.

It was one thing to accidentally fall asleep together on the grass in the palace’s garden. It was an entirely different matter to try and resume the intimacy of husband and wife in the privacy of a bedroom.

She knew nothing of war, of the trauma it caused, if not for what Eärwen had told her. The first years after Arafinwë’s return had taken a toll on their marriage. He had returned a different man, and Eärwen, for the first time, had not been there during his change. And how difficult it had been – and still was – for Findaráto to return to a normal life! There was no returning, they said.

Something in their very _fëa _had been touched profoundly by the war, and it was absurd and unjust to expect for them to pick up again their previous untroubled life, even after they were healed and seemed serene. It was impossible for her too, and Eärwen and Nerdanel, and all the other women who had been left behind and had felt the bonds with their children and husbands being torn with cruelty.

She too was not sure if she could return to her previous life, after the years of solitude. She had felt bereft and diminished ever since her children and then her husband had died, as if a part of her self had been wrenched, shredded, and obliterated, leaving behind a grey numbness, that encompassed all of her senses. She had been apathetic for a long time after that, unable to even taste the sweet fragrance of something as simple as freshly baked bread.

What did it matter if she baked, when there were not the hungry hands of her children to swat away, the contented hum of her husband as he took in the smell that spread through the whole house. (He used to put aside his papers to watch her bustle around the kitchen, and sometimes, when he was particularly happy and playful, he would sneak up on her, wrap his arms around her waist and rain small kisses on her neck).

They were two different people now. _Yet, I wish to have my husband again. Even if he is not the same man I married, I wish we could at least build again that feeling of safety and home we had shared. But how? Would he even want me to touch him, now? _

In the darkness of the room the dim rays of the moon were filtering through the sheer curtains, and one of them illuminated the side of his face. From the corner of his right eye Anairë saw something glint and trail down his cheek.

He was motionless while another tear followed the first, his breath even, as if he was not aware of them.

Anairë felt her throat dry and her heart constrict, her tongue swollen, making it impossible for her to speak and break the spell that had fallen on them. He had never been shy to cry in front of her, but he was not easy to move to tears. In the past, she would have not hesitated to brush the droplets away, drawing him close so that he could hide in the crook of her neck. Now, however, she did not trust her touch to be what he needed, fearing that her embrace would be more overwhelming than soothing.

And, if she were honest, the flimsy happiness she had felt mere moments ago would shatter in a thousand pieces (and she with it) if he rejected her now.

She knew, as she had known the last time they had been together before he left, that they were at a turning point in their relationship, as if they were walking on the crest of the mountains, with two abysses gaping on each side, ready to swallow them if they were to take a step in the wrong direction or lose their balance for a fatal instant.

_I need to let him set the pace. He will open up when he feels safe and when he knows that I will be there to smooth the rugged edges etched in his spirit._

Yet, looking at him, he seemed to her terribly lonely and withdrawn, trying to occupy as little space as possible.

It occurred to her that he was, indeed, lying down as if in an unfamiliar place, unsure if he were welcome or not, and she berated herself for not noticing this sooner.

Without taking her eyes off his face, her fingers began to trace inane patterns on the back of his clenched fist, brushing over his knuckles, and then trailing higher, over the wrist and the delicate skin on its inside.

She watched his eyes blink, once, twice, before she saw his jaw relax minutely, and his fist loosened. She did not stop her movements, keeping them confined to his hand and wrist, telling him with touch alone what her voice could not.

_I am here, with you,_ said her fingers over the back of his hand. _I want you here_, they said as they brushed the knuckles. _You are safe_, as they covered his fingers. _I still love you_, they whispered over the fluttering pulse on his wrist.

They stayed like that for a long while. Anairë did not dare to make her touch bolder, yet unwilling to cease the contact, and he relinquished his tension. At last, he took a deep breath, and turned on the mattress, facing her. The hand she had been caressing slipped from under her fingers and hid under his pillow, mirroring her position. Her arm, instead, lay inert between them.

She took in his features, searched his eyes, and let out a sigh of relief at his expression.

He did not look sad, or terrified, but gazed at her with wonder and tenderness.

She could not help but smile softly at him, seeing his mouth curl up in answer.

“Hi,” she whispered.

His voice was hoarse by the long silence, when he answered her. “Hi.” He looked at her outstretched hand, covered it with his own, bringing it to his lips, and kissed her knuckles. She tried to dry his tears with her fingers, and he blinked rapidly, as if realising for the first time that he had been crying.

“I don’t deserve you,” he said slowly, as if he were speaking to himself.

She placed a finger on his lips, “Don’t say that. Never say that. You’re my husband.”

“Am I still that? Your husband?”

“Always,” she answered placidly, even if she would have wanted to cry in dismay at his uncertainty, or tell him that he was silly to think that he would be anything else for her. But he did not need her vehemence, or her passion now. He was looking for reassurance and balance after the upheaval of his rebirth. She had time – possibly, all the time in the world – to show him her love and how much she had missed him.

For now, she would be content with this small step, their first night together in their old house, and she would do her best to make it feel like a home for him too.

He swallowed, this time consciously fighting back the tears, but to no avail.

“Anairë.” A simple name, on his lips it became a prayer.

“I’m here.”

“Yes,” he shuddered, “And I am too.”

Her smile widened, “You are.”

“I told you,” he said, voice rough, “a long time ago, that I would return. For you.”

“You did.”

“And I’m here, now. Again. Alive,” he gasped.

“Arakáno…”

He was weeping now, his sobs shaking his body, and he looked vulnerable, with his face pressed in the pillow to hide his tears, trembling as if terrified. Anaire would regret it for the rest of her life if she were to leave him alone and deprive him of her comfort now, in one of the most difficult moment of his life. She shifted closer to him, wedging an arm under his pillow and around his shoulder, and drew him to her, her fear of being inadequate forgotten. She arranged the covers around them to create a warm and safe hiding place for them both, letting him seek refuge in her embrace.

The first weeks after rebirth were the hardest, Eärwen had told her, but Anairë had hoped that her Arakáno would be spared the aftermath of the shock, considering how well he had seemed to be in the first days.

But he had always been an expert at hiding behind his collected mask, and he had probably felt too much under scrutiny, with too many people around to please and see happy – his mother, his siblings, her. People he had not seen ever since the Darkening and his departure, aside from Lalwen, but she too, like them, had never experienced death.

He had fooled even her, and the fact left her with a bitter taste on her tongue. Once she would have been able to see and feel every thin crack in his masks. Even in their last years together he had no secrets, nothing was concealed – if anything, it remained unaddressed and festered, feeding the bitterness they had felt at the time.

_I have been unable to see behind his mask, perhaps unwilling, even. And I want to believe – no, I am sure – that he has needed the protection, and that he did not do it with the purpose of keeping me away. Have patience, Anairë. _

His hiccups became fewer and farther in between, as his breathing slowed down. She tightened his hold on him and rolled on her back, letting him lay over her, his head on her breast. With a wistful sigh she recalled all the innumerable times they had lain like this, often after they had made love. They would share their most intimate fears and desires, when their hearts beat one against the other, their bodies still interwoven, as they gazed languidly at each other. His weight always made her feel encased and sheltered, while she could cradle him and offer her affection in return.

It had been during one moment such as this that she had felt a small, hot sparkle bud in her womb, and they had gasped in unison at the realisation that their first child had been just conceived, his new-born _fëa_ latching on theirs for nourishment and support. Anairë did not want to think of her children, still languishing in the Halls of Mandos, waiting for their time to come out and _live_ again, vibrant and joyful, as they deserved to be.

The memories, however, hit her as a rolling wave, threatening to break her composure, as she fought to remain focussed on the here and now, on her husband in her arms, and not on her sons and daughter whom she could not yet embrace.

He looked up at her, eyes red and shy, as she smoothed back some damp strands of his hair.

“I – I have yet to realise that I’m – here. Alive and in Aman. For so long, so long I have despaired. There was no light, at the end, no glory, nothing.” He looked away, frowning, “I did not mean to return like this.”

She stayed silent, playing with the ends on his hair, giving him the time to work out his feelings.

“When you said,” he swallowed, “when you called me husband, just now, I… It became suddenly real. This. We have spent the last three weeks travelling together, and then at the palace, and yet, only today I felt something fit into place, I think. And I look around at this house, our old home, and see how you have made it completely yours, and now you’re making space for me again, even after all I’ve done. When I said I do not deserve you, I meant this.”

“What makes you think you’re undeserving of this? Of my love?”

“Oh, Anairë,” he pressed his forehead on her sternum, “All the things I’ve done, the blood on my hands, the lives of our children, leaving you here…”

“And were the ages spent in Mandos not punishment enough?” she asked quietly.

“I do not know. I feel like I don’t know anything anymore.”

And how well could she understand his sentiment! Yet, now it was not the time to show uncertainty, and she hoped that her next words would be met with happiness.

“It’s alright, my love. We have time to figure it out.”

He went completely still in her arms, and she wondered if he could hear her frantic heart pound in her chest. At last, he shifted and raised a hand to cup her cheek, his eyes looking intently at her.

“We?”

The hesitance and the small note of hope in his voice were all the reassurance she needed. She pressed a kiss on his palm, nodding, “If you want me with you, then yes, we.”

He stared, “I never thought, not even in my wildest of dreams, that you would – I prepared myself for your scorn, your rejection, your coldness or hate. I was resigned to live away from you, even if it meant that I would die a second time. But this,” his hand drifted lower, sitting over her heart, “I never thought I would have this again.”

_I gave my heart to you a long time ago, and I do not want it back_, she thought, _and when your fears and your demons will have been vanquished, I will tell you of the darkness that I had to face, of my anger, and resentment, and how I almost let myself fade when the last of my children had been wrenched from me. I will tell you, one day, how it took me years to reach this place, where my longing for you was not a source of despair, but of strength instead that made me look forward to the next day, because it meant that your return would be closer. But not tonight. _

She covered his hand with her own, “And yet,” she said sweetly, “You have always had it.”

“My wife,” he said with wonder, tasting the word, almost foreign after all the ages he had refused to utter it, for fear that it would reopen the wound left by her absence.

He gave her a smile, then, a big, incredulous smile, that made him look younger, and Anairë felt herself blush under his attention, suddenly conscious of the closeness of their bodies, their warmth seeping through their nightclothes, and the mere inches that separated their mouths.

She saw his eyes flicker to her lips, then to her eyes again, and she knew he must have been thinking the same, but neither of them, perhaps, was ready for that next step that night.

He rolled off her, keeping an arm around her waist and Anairë let herself relax. They had finally found their balance on the crest of their mountain, and the abyss seemed not ready to swallow them at any moment, but became a breath-taking landscape, over which the dawn was breaking. There were things to discuss, plans to make, they both needed time to find again a rhythm. But they were safe, now, their first obstacle behind them. Her eyes drifted shut in bliss, the warmth of her husband and his even breathing lulling her to sleep.

The last thing she felt before succumbing to slumber were his lips placing a kiss on her brow, as he whispered “Thank you.”


End file.
